Advice from a Friend
by bhut
Summary: Coulson needs some professional advice about him living after death; Buffy Summers gives it to him with Dawn's input. Slightly updated.
1. Chapter 1

**Advice from a friend**

_Disclaimer: none of the characters are mine, but belong to Whedon and to Marvel-verse._

The time was night, the weather was raining, and when Buffy Summers saw that there was a man in a suit sitting at the Summers' family table, looking at her in an ominous way, she was not surprised one bit.

"Give me one good reason why you are here?" she said crossly, as she moved into a slightly defensive position between him and Dawn.

"I am with S.H.I.E.L.D.," Coulson replied with an apologetic look, albeit a weak one.

"And?"

"Miss Summers, is it true that you died?"

There was a lull and Buffy actually relaxed. "Sit," she told her sister, before pulling out a cartoon of ice cream from the fridge and joining them as well. "Is there a friend or is it personal?"

"Personal," Coulson nodded, completely serious now. "I've dead for days but have just remembered this – well, mostly how S.H.I.E.L.D. used machines to rebuild me from scratch."

"Only days? Peanuts," Dawn spoke before Buffy could. "Buffy was dead for months. Willow rebuilt her with magic...I don't even know how she did it..."

"No, I am reasonably sure that magic wasn't involved – S.H.I.E.L.D. generally doesn't trust it, we leave it to the likes of Dr. Strange, the Sorcerer Supreme," Coulson shook his head.

"You have an agreement with us-"

"Honestly? It's more like a peaceful coexistence, just ask Dr. Giles," Coulson confessed. "After WWII a renegade Watcher used several bastardized alien helmets – we can't even be sure that they are Tauri – to brainwash people into being his minions slash assassins. That did not go well with anyone involved."

"How can you _brainwash_ a _person_ using a _helmet_?" Buffy could not help but ask.

"I have no idea; the reports are not just classified, but blurry," Coulson shrugged, "and as I said, the idea failed, as most of your renegade's victims recovered just in time to save the day...right. I think we steered off the topic a bit?"

"Good point," Buffy nodded, turning more serious and shushing Dawn. "Ok, here's my side of the story. When I returned, I was a mess. My friends were a mess. Willow actually almost ended the world – almost." She paused. "Admittedly, they became a mess _after_ I died and in part they may have thought that bringing me back would solve everything... right. The thing is that their goals were even if everything else of theirs was not...and that you should need therapy now that you realized the truth. I know that I did."

"And I am happy to provide it!" Dawn added brightly, pulling out a pair of glasses onto her nose. "Believe it!"

"Do you do Skype™?" Coulson asked, quite seriously.

"Sure do!"

"Hey! Who will be footing the Internet bill?" Buffy interrupted.

"Me. Or, rather, S.H.I.E.L.D." Coulson said quietly, but firmly.

"Ah. OK then," Buffy backed down, sensing the agent's intent. "Sorry about this. Blonde moment. Anyways, agent Coulson, welcome aboard to our therapy sessions, we will contact you with your first appointment ASAP."

"But?" Coulson asked, sensing it.

"Your people have called – and by them I mean your immediate team. They have finally noticed your absence and are about to start the manhunt for you once more-"

"Right. Get me Skype™ - I mean them, and by them I am guessing you mean May or Skye," Coulson sighed. "The Centipede may be gone, but there are dark times still ahead."

End


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Disclaimer: see previous chapters._

_Note: spoilers ahead._

_Several weeks later..._

The mood in the helicarrier remained somber, especially with the absence of Ward. True, the big man was not much of a talker, but he was part of the team and without him – the team was incomplete; considering that May's actions had already caused a rift that was _not_ a good thing at all.

"The problem is," Skye was quietly muttering to Simmons as the latter was doing some experiments of her own "is that there are too many layers by now, too many twists and turns. Agent Hand was the Hydra; no – we; no – it's agent Garrick."

"Well, that's why it's called the Hydra, as opposed to the Nemean Lion or the Erymanthean Boar, I suppose," Simmons was slightly apologetic, but not overly. "It's not a single threat; it's several, all twisting and turning-"

"-Past the point of no returning, I get it," Skye sighed."I guess I just don't have your stiff upper lip."

"Stiff upper lip? Me?" Simmons replied, incredulously. "Fitz and I are nervous wrecks; not just because of what happened here, but because of what happened at the Academy..." she trailed away. "I'm not making things better, am I?"

"No," Fitz admitted, as he was busy fixing the electronics of the helicarrier: Simmons and others were assisting him, but only some. "But your accent is adorable, especially when you're nervous-"

"Fitz!" Simmons turned red. "We're in public!"

Before anyone (well, probably Skye) could comment on that statement, the laptop on Coulson's desk came to life.

"Yes?" Coulson immediately spoke into this. "Who's on the line? Agent Coulson's speaking."

"Agent Coulson? Hi!" a cheery, yet strained face of Willow Rosenberg appeared on the screen. "It's the Watchers' Council; can we talk?"

"Now isn't a good time," Coulson shook his head. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is going through some rough patches at the moment-"

"It will only take a moment," Willow quickly sped up her speech. "Sorry to ask, but has Buffy contacted you recently? She appears to be missing at the moment – we can't contact her."

"No," Coulson said slowly as possibilities about the head Vampire Slayer missing at the moment went through his head at speeds of Willow's babbling. "She hasn't...or maybe she had, but we don't know at the moment: we've been infiltrated by a terrorist group and still haven't recovered and identified what's what. If your friend has contacted my superiors, it is possible that her call had been intercepted and the possibilities are numerous, but not of the good sort."

"Not of the good sort," Willow repeated softly as she licked her lips. "Yeah, I believe that. Not just because earlier Faith, Kennedy and I had to deal with some reject from Salem and her pet worms, but because of the dreams-"

"Excuse me? Worms? What sort of worms?" Simmons piped up almost despite herself. "Ribbon, or flat, or-"

"Almost as big as your helicarrier with slicing teeth sort of worms," Willow grimaced. "And that, sadly, was just the tip of the iceberg. The Slayers have been getting prophetic dreams that something big is stirring in the shadows-"

"That was probably the Hydra – the organization that has infiltrated us," Simmons spoke before Coulson could, again.

"I hope so," Willow did not sound particularly relieved. "Last time Vampire Slayers – and Potentials had such dreams, was when the First Evil itself decided to take us on, leading an army of ubervamps – as tough as boars and just as smart. We had to sink Sunnydale itself to stop them. Anyways, thanks for the update, we'll keep an eye out for that Hydra of yours, bye," and the laptop went dead.

Coulson, and to a lesser extent, May, glared at Simmons. "What?" the younger agent defended herself. "What did I say?"

"They're just upset that you've monopolized the conversation and stirred in the wrong direction," Fitz explained, as he finally got out of the wiring, "and speaking of that, some of the contacts can't be repaired, but simply must be replaced."

"Just add them to the list," Coulson said wearily and the repair work on the helicarrier proceeded without further interruptions.

End


End file.
